


It’s The Ground That Gets You

by ShadowsOffense



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Acceptance, Closeted Character, Coming Out, F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gen, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, It Gets Better Project, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Poor Life Choices, Renegon (Mass Effect), Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, Survivor Guilt, closets are toxic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsOffense/pseuds/ShadowsOffense
Summary: Commander Shepard died the perfect child, a war hero with a boyfriend, a savior of the galaxy.  But they brought her back and she can't bare to die again still living the lie.  She's a terrorist, a traitor, and gay fits right into that list, doesn't it?  Still, Jane can't bring herself to actually say it aloud, but she knows she has to.  She can't died like that again.  She just can't.
Alternatively, "happy" national coming out day.  For some of us, its harder than others, but it really does get better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> He'll wave off, but damn if he's going to punch out.

....  
Alpha  
....

 

They let him see her.

_They let him see her._

God. He’d told those Cerberus bastards where they could shove their “job offer,” hoping that they wouldn’t use the same airlock to get rid of his body and too damn angry –at Cerberus, their presumption that he was some type of disloyal patsy pushover, and everything else in the galaxy that was still breathing when she _wasn’t_ ; himself most of all- to really care if they did.

Instead their reply was artificially pleasant: _That’s a shame Mr. Moreau; our Doctors say Shepard will be waking up from her comma soon and I know it would mean a lot to her to have you there. Our information suggests you were... close. She stayed behind on the Normandy in order to get you to safety, but if you’d rather wait around for the Alliance to reconsider letting you fly, well, Shepard is a strong person. I’m sure she’ll manage just fine without you; Cerberus takes care of our own._

They were playing him. Jeff knew they were playing him. But they let him see her _and she was alive_. 

He had loved her, he and his stupidity had gotten her killed, and, while she might hate him now, Jeff damn well wasn’t going to let Jane face her “rescuers” alone. Or anything else in this galaxy, either.

....  
Bravo  
....

She had died.

_She had died._

Jane raised a shaky hand, touching one of the breaks in the skin covering her face. Breaks. Not scars, not cuts in something that had been whole, but breaks where the lab-grown tissue hadn’t quite finished knitting together over the mix of muscle and machine that now replaced and augmented her body.

She’d actually died. Died and no one knew, died while still living the life she’d wanted to be true, but had never expected to be buried with. Died under the lie a part of her had always thought of as temporary, no matter how hard she fought to keep it a secret. How many excuses she’d made to keep it.

Jane couldn’t, wouldn’t die like that again.

She just didn’t know how to tell them. Tell him. Standing in front of the mirror, staring at her patchwork face, she mouthed the words to herself.

_I’m gay._

Heart racing, Jane fled the bathroom, fled being alone with nothing between her and the truth. Because, even alone, she didn’t know how to say it out loud. And that was just fear, just one more excuse, keeping the words burning in her throat, unsaid.

Jane Shepard had lived and died a coward.  


....  
Charlie  
....

After everything, their reunion didn’t happen the way she thought it would. _Any_ of the ways she thought it would, and Jane had spent a lot of time thinking about it, how it might go.

Sneaking a message to him passed her Cerberus watch dogs had been the scenario her brain had voted most likely, although it stalled on what she would write. What could she write? _Hi Sweetheart_ (she’d never called him that), _guess what? I’m alive_ (again). _I’m working for Cerberus_ (basically with hostages at gun point, given what’s happening to the terminus colonies). _And, just thought you should know, I’m gay_ (and I’ve been lying to you about it since before lock down on the Citadel; you know, when we slept together). _Love_ (as a friend), _Shepard._

He’d be as likely to believe the last statement as he would the first two. And sending a blank page wouldn’t exactly have gotten the message across. Jane couldn’t see herself writing anything anywhere near what she needed to say... not in any way that would be remotely convincing. But not contacting him was not an option, not when she could picture what might happen then.

Worst case scenario would be running into him in some random, public location. Jane would be in the middle of sweet talking a merchant or being summoned down to a bar to put the fear of God into a crewman or four who’d had one too many drinks and hadn’t seen who’d started it, Ma’am. Then she’d turn around and find herself meeting Jeff’s eyes (he was already looking at her, so there was no chance for Jane to slink off or run away). Her heart would plummet, stall and beat faster at the same time. Maybe he’d walk away, maybe he’d walk towards her like a man in a dream. Touch her to prove she was real, like she was a mirage of water in the desert. Say he loved her, missed her, and couldn’t bear to loose her again. 

The thought of it happening that way gave Jane nightmares, yet she longed for it at the same time. She _missed_ him dammit. And how sick was that? Wanting that type of declaration of love knowing she didn’t, couldn’t feel the same way. Maybe he’d yell, or cry, or try to kiss her, or she didn’t know what. Jane didn’t want it to happen like that.

Her never-in-a-million-years fantasy was to see him again only after she’d destroyed the Collectors; handed them and Cerberus, gift wrapped on a platter, over to the Alliance and been welcomed back with open arms. She’d come home to a hero’s welcome, re-commissioned, and her friends and family could look at her with respect. Not like she was a traitor or a terrorist. Not with the wary suspicion that had been in Tali’s voice and posture, shooting glances back over her shoulder even as the quarians were leaving with Veetor.

Jane didn’t think Jeff could break her heart, not like she’d break his. Was going to break his. But if he looked at her like Tali had... that just might do it.

But, if Jane saw him after everything, after she’d saved everyone and history had proven her to be in the right, she could be gracious, magnanimous, speak to him from a hero’s pedestal. He’d still look at her with respect, then, even if he was hurt. If she told him after that, well, there wouldn’t be disgust or shame in his eyes (unless there was). And, maybe, if she spoke to him from a hero’s pedestal, maybe then it wouldn’t be as bad, hurt as much. If she was above, untouchable, well, shit... God, even in a fantasy, that was too egotistical for her. Jeff was more than worthy of her. He was better than she deserved in many ways. Jane missed him desperately. He was her best friend and she just wanted to see him again. Even though she dreaded it, too.

And with the entire Alliance backing her up, after she told Jeff, she could think about telling her mother. Jane quailed at the thought. Not even having Admirals solidly at her six could help with that.

None of those fantasies prepared her for what actually happened.

Jane had never expected the fucking Illusive Man to introduce him. Never expected to turn around and see him in a Cerberus uniform, working with the enemy, brought low in the same way she was. He was better than that. They both were. 

Except he wasn’t, neither of them were. They were just soldiers, doing what was necessary to save the lives that had been entrusted to them. And if Jane hadn’t expected to see him there, with Cerberus, she definitely hadn’t expected how relieved it made her feel. Her breath caught and then she exhaled, something tight in her chest, that she hadn’t even realized was there, melting away.

He looked almost exactly the same as he had the last time she’d seen him, wearing the white and gold uniform right up against the line of sloppy soldier, drop and give me 50. Just the same as he had with the Alliance. Same damn cap low over his eyes, grey-green and looking at her not with pain or grief or unbearable longing or anything else she feared seeing; it was just him, just Jeff. And the last time she’d seen him, the Normandy had been exploding all around them, his life pod jettisoned too damn late to have been able to completely escape being touched by the blast that had cracked open her suit. She had known he hadn’t been listed among the dead, but seeing him standing there, hale and _whole_....

The wave of relief that crashed into her was as powerful as it was surprising and carried her feet steadily to stand arms length from him.

“God, I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I think that’s my line.”

Her quiet laugh was rusty with disuse. She took a step closer and felt his arms slowly wrap around her, not passionate, but comforting and she returned the embrace gingerly, feeling the warmth of another person under her fingertips and relishing it. It was awkward, but necessary, right in some strange way. 

Jane wasn’t sure it _could_ have happened differently, after all.  


....  
Delta  
....

After everything, their reunion didn’t happen the way he thought it would. _Any_ of the ways he thought it would, and Jeff had spent a lot of time thinking about it.

To begin, every fantasy started with him being at her damn bedside when she finally woke up. Not with him off running some useless flight test while she woke up early, still injured and in pain, surrounded by enemies, with some lunatic and his army of mechs trying to kill her. _Fucking_ Cerberus. Jeff was supposed to have _been there_. Her eyes would have slowly opened, blinked as she tried to focus, then widened when she saw him. 

After that, Jeff wasn’t sure what came next.

He dreaded seeing that there might be some AI running the show, that it would be painfully obvious (to him at least), that Jane Shepard wasn’t really back at all and Cerberus had turned her body into a puppet that was only her in every way that didn’t matter. But, no matter how good their programmers were, the second she opened her mouth, he’d know. What Jane was couldn’t be replicated. 

Assuming it was her? Jeff had no idea. They’d been friends, briefly lovers, and then she’d died saving his life. Because he’d disobeyed her direct order. If he had just listened, they both would have lived. If he’d _just fucking listened_. 

Jeff wasn’t sure which was worse: the idea that she’d forgive him for it or the idea that she’d hate him for it. Her death was his fault and he dreaded the likelihood that she’d just let it go; the thought made him sick, nauseated, because he deserved to be held responsible for his actions. He _deserved_ it. Jeff dreaded her excusing him nearly as much as he dreaded the idea that she’d hate him; that he’d never be anything other than a mutinous bastard to her ever again.

And working for a terrorist organization? Yeah, that was sure to help. Big time. 

So, after Jane opened her eyes? Jeff had no idea which way things were going to go. The important part was that he was supposed have been there for it. _Fucking Cerberus._

None of those fantasies prepared him for what actually happened. To see her standing there, fresh from yet another battle field, looking stonily at their new ship.

She looked like hell. Like she’d just hauled her ass from Mako to the CIC, bypassing medical, with boots and bullet holes still red and dripping. Hell, he was half surprised not to feel a pilot’s chair under his butt. She looked just like she had before. She looked alive.

“God, I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I think that’s my line.”

She walked over to him and his arms had folded around her out of relief, out of habit. Slowly she accepted the hug. Awkwardly. 

In all his fantasies, Jeff hadn’t expected this; this sudden distance between them that wasn’t angry, just there. Like a door that had been open was unexpectedly shut. This hadn’t been in any of his projections, but, abruptly, it was obvious that it should have been.

Jeff wasn’t sure it _could_ have happened differently, after all. And he wasn’t sure what to do about it, now that it had happened.  


....  
Echo  
....

Take _the Normandy_ (the new black and white _Normandy_ , the us or them _Normandy_ , the Cerberus _Normandy_ ). Put together a crew (somehow a loyal one, out of spies and moles and criminals). Find the Collectors (in unknown, uncharted space). Destroy them (with the phrase “at any cost” hanging ominously, _expectantly_ damn Cerberus, over that final objective: destroy them).

It was easy, so easy, to be busy. Just... busy.

Jane didn’t have to look for work to keep her occupied, to find excuses to only see Jeff when one of them was on duty. It was _easy_ to simply not have any down time where she wasn’t also working or dead asleep. Training, getting to know her new crew, how they thought, how they acted, so that she could mesh with them in a fight, was beyond important. It was needed, it was life or death, it was the one edge she had against the Illusive Man’s _expectations_ , and it was the easy excuse. Hard would have been making the time. 

Even when Jane was just relaxing, spending that “off duty” sit and talk time with the ground team, instead of Jeff, was important. They weren’t Alliance; she needed to get to know them, get closer to them than was normal for a commander. She had to learn them, learn when they’d duck, when they’d charge, when they’d hesitate, and teach them to trust her orders, to not think, just act, when she told them to jump. It was a joke in the Alliance, but taking orders on instinct was often the line between life and death. Duck so that a teammate’s shot would go over their head, so that they didn’t get caught in the air strike, so that whatever surprise Jane was arranging didn’t have to go over the comms, encrypted channel or not. So that everyone would make it to the escape pods. Act without knowing why, because if they weren’t already on the way up when they asked how high, they’d be dead. Or, worse, someone(s) else would die in their place. Because Jane couldn’t always tell them _why_. 

It was **not** easy.

And not everybody made the cut. Jane threw the expensive, vaulted mercenary Cerberus had hired off her ship. He was skilled, talented, experienced, and she was given to understand that his price had been high enough she didn’t want to know the actual figure. But when he’d had a personal stake in the mission, the only orders he followed were his own.

He’d put _civilians_ in danger.

And then he’d wasted precious seconds _arguing_ , demanding really, that she _let them die_. It enraged Jane just to think about it. She’d kicked him off the ship. Off her team and off her god damn ship. And, afterwards, having that new hole in her squad just made that much more work for her, made it that much easier to be busy. And, hell, if she wasn’t _glad_ of it, of the unending work.

Because every time she saw Jeff, Jane’s whole body seized up; it was like the words ‘I’m gay’ were something physical, not so much caught in her throat as tied around it. Not saying them made it impossible to breathe.

But, if she said it, there would be no going back.

She didn’t want to die closeted (again), but she didn’t want to be out either. So Jane kept her distance (friendly, just _distant_ ) and kept busy. Every waking hour, going through dossiers of potential new team members, training the existing ones to work together, practically harassing them into wearing off the rough edges until they started to become a cohesive fighting force. Even going over Miranda’s superfluous reports, whose only purpose was to keep Jane honest. Everything and anything that took away her free time so that she wasn’t alone with him without something else to do. Because, alone and unoccupied, there was nothing holding her back from saying it. Nothing except herself. And it was easier to be busy than to be terrified.

It was easy.

Until Illium.  


....  
Foxtrot  
....

They were in kind of a holding pattern. At least, that was how Jeff thought about it. He felt like he was waiting for permission to land or for the wave off, with no idea what was happening on the ground.

Jane would have probably compared it to the wait of a shuttle ride into a hostile LZ, knowing her. Jeff had never had to do that, obviously, but he had always pitied the ground pounders for that heart gripping type of waiting, filled with indeterminate bumps and shakes and no way to tell if it was just regular turbulence or if you were about to get blown out of the sky. That was no way to fly.

That was him and Jane, though. She was flying and Jeff? He was in the dark, waiting for the shoe to drop. For something he could fight. Or work out, or fix, or whatever. It wasn’t a perfect metaphor.

He _really_ hoped it wouldn’t be a fight.

The way they were now, though, Jeff couldn’t even say she was avoiding him. Not that Jeff had expected her to, because Jane never really avoided people completely; she had always liked to visit with her crew and she made no exceptions. She’d sound them out while giving away almost nothing of herself (keeping the distance she’d been trained to think of as necessary for command). Then she’d take what she’d learned and use it, honing them until they were razor sharp and fitting them together in ways that _worked_. She was terrifyingly brilliant at it. 

However, those “get to know my team” talks were brief chats and while Jane still didn’t leave him out of those completely, Jeff wasn’t part of her ground pounders. If she’d only come by for a quick check in now and then, if she’d left it at that, he’d have said Jane was, indeed, avoiding him as much as she could bring herself to avoided anyone.

But she _didn’t_.

Jane came by a lot more often than that. He’d fly and she’d hang around somewhere behind him or plop herself down in the copilot’s chair and fill out reports on oxygen consumption or some shit while they tossed banter back and forth. She even pulled EDI into it, somehow getting the Cerberus AI to tag team with her... which really wasn’t fair (God, EDI drove him spare; it figured she and Jane would get along). But, except for EDI, it was almost like how they used to hang out, _before_. Not just in the cockpit, but in the mess, in the rec room (and, once, in Jane’s cabin, where it had been a little bit more than that). But, now, Jane only came by while he was on duty, keeping their work between them. She’d only relax when that barrier was in place. Otherwise, she was scarcer than a Salarian on Tuchanka; their presence could be felt in the air itself, but they were no where to be seen. And, off duty, neither was Jane.

They were more than colleagues, less than friends. They sure as hell weren’t together, but they weren’t exactly apart. They were waiting. Locked into a holding pattern. Circling.

Until Illium. 

Until Liara.

....  
Gulf  
....

Jane had no idea what had happened. 

In the two years she had been dead, time hadn’t stopped. Jane knew that. Lives and people had continued in her absence. But she could normally track their progress. See the progression from where she’d left them to where they’d ended up.

Garrus had been a surprise.

She’d warned him. Cautioned against the dangers of working too far outside the rules, of letting the need to punish the guilty become more important than protecting the rest. But Jane could see how Garrus had gotten to where he’d been at. She hadn’t been _happy_ about it, but Jane could see how it had happened.

If he hadn’t taken a rocket to the face for it, and if rank had mattered at all in this rag tag band of hers, she’d have busted his ass down to private so fast he’d have left skid marks on each and every rank bar in between.

With Liara... God, _Liara_... Jane had no idea what the hell could have happened. 

But Jane knew it was her fault. Whatever it was, whatever had happened, it had happened because of _her_.

_Liara._ The name had torn repetitively through Jane’s mind like a sob, like Jane was _mourning_ , as their conversation had spiraled. She’d been, she’d been so damn _happy_ to see the asari that it had taken a moment. To realize. To look passed the face and _realize_.

Jane had stared at someone completely unrecognizable, someone who happened to still answer to her... friend’s name. And, for one instant, the world had been white, searing pain. Because it _wasn’t_ Liara, not the Liara Jane had known. When she’d _realized_... It only hurt for a shocked, numbed instant. Then Jane shut it down. There was no time to grieve in combat and that “conversation” was close enough. Jane did as she’d been trained. She asked clipped questions, didn’t let herself think about to _who_ , and walked out of that office, that _damn_ office, to complete her mission.

She kept moving, because if she stopped, Jane didn’t know if she’d be able to start again. 

And suddenly, the type of suddenly that took forever and was its own slice of unending hell, Jane had retrieved Kriso, her gear was stripped and stowed, and she was staring blankly at the closed armor locker in her cabin. She could remember each and every moment in between Liara’s office and _the Normandy_ (they were blindly, painfully clear), but Jane was still surprised to find herself suddenly there, suddenly done.

She stared at her locker for a long moment. As if confused about what came next. But only one thing could. Her body stilled and with no orders left to complete, no duty holding her back, Jane had no choice but to start to let herself feel. And, once she started, she couldn’t control it. Control anything.

Grief. Self-loathing. Pain. Guilt. Pain. The memory of Liara’s tense frame. Her voice cold and distant. Hurt (an old wound, Jane had recognized it all too well. Jane had spoken the words that _caused_ it) hidden, buried deep within Liara’s eyes beneath the unfeeling layers of ice. Ice over hurt where there used to be... affection? Hope certainly. Something Jane had never welcomed (Jane had longed for it and shoved it, and Liara, away all the harder. Brushed the young asari aside, rude and cruel). Jane didn’t want to think about it (she couldn’t stop thinking about it).

_Oh god, Liara._

Whatever had happened to Liara, at the core of it, it had been Jane’s fault. Too much war, too much death, too much pain. Loss on top of heartbreak. Loss _of Jane_ on top of heartbreak _caused by Jane._

_My fault._

Sinking to the floor, back against the cool metal wall under the end of her long, empty, fishtank, Jane’s emotions cut through her chest like a wound. Every moment, every movement was agony. Without really thinking, Jane did what any soldier would do. She focused on breathing through the pain and used her omnitool to call for help.

_Jeff. I need to see you. Jane._

It was only after she’d sent the message that she realized what she’d done.  


....  
Hotel  
....

Jeff had no idea what had happened.

But any pilot could recognize a crash when they found one and Jeff found the broken wreckage of a ship scattered across the plains of Jane’s voice when she had reported her team inbound with a new, terrifyingly adept and practiced at killing people, recruit. Recruit, ha!

An honest to god _assassin_.

What Jane had actually said was: _Mission accomplished. Kriso accepted contract. Returning to base._

And the only two other messages she’d sent before that were: _Following a lead on an information source. High risk. Send back up, full assault, if not contacted again in 20._ And, in the 6th minute after that (6 minutes 32 seconds, not that he was counting, that was what Lawson was for, but, seriously, _six_ minutes?! That was barely long enough for her to have gotten to wherever the hell she was going): _All clear._

The messages were short, nothing, but Jeff knew Jane too well. The first two were fine, all systems green. In the last one, Jane had sounded not just tired, not just grim, not just sad, but defeated. Empty. Her voice sounded like it had right after they’d been grounded on the Citadel, knowing Saren and Sovereign would be incoming all too soon. When she’d known that everything would be lost and hadn’t had any answers. When she’d been sitting, waiting for death, bound in redtape, and seeing nothing but the end for not just herself, but for all that she’d fought for and believed in. That was the only time Jane had _ever_ sounded defeated. Sounded heartbroken. Crouched in front of a weapons locker, barely holding it together after speaking to a young asari whose mother she had executed to stop the very thing that was, at the moment, happening.

What the hell could have _happened_ to make her sound that way now?

Jeff had known what was wrong the first time, docked at the Citadel. _Hello? Reaper army in bound._ He didn’t have any idea this time. _I mean, the collectors are bad, but they are just nowhere near the same class._ Still, his response was going to be the same. He couldn’t hear her like that and not try to help. There probably wasn’t anything he could do, but he was sure as hell going to try. And if she wouldn’t let him in, he’d talk at her through the damn door. Whatever it took.

Besides, he was a pilot. He knew how to examine wreckage and find the black box. Piece it together and figure out what needed to be done. If he could lay out some steps, get her back on her feet, Jane could take it from there.

She had the last time.

Holy hell had she.

So, Jeff gave Jane time to get her new killing machine crew member settled, but he was already preparing, maybe psyching himself up a little, for standing and making his way to her cabin when he received her message (instead of a comm call, why didn’t she comm?): _Jeff. I need to see you. Jane._

That was... terse.

He swallowed and headed for the lift at his best limp. _Really, really, really not good._ He’d thought she’d crashed, but now Jeff wondered if Jane wasn’t still on the way down.

At least odds were good she’d let him in the door.  


....  
India  
....

_I need to see you._

Oh God. She’d done it. She’d actually done it. She hadn’t said the words yet, hadn’t confessed, but he was on his way here and Jane was going to. She couldn’t explain anything otherwise. _Liara._ Jane needed to talk, so she _had_ to tell him.

Oh God. 

She let her head thunk back against the wall. What the fuck was Jane doing? She didn’t have any kind of plan. _I need to see you._ This was... this was a big mistake. Jane’s eyes squeezed shut. 

Maybe she wasn’t even really gay. Maybe she wasn’t really Commander Jane Shepard. Maybe she was just a high tech VI, hell a high tech AI, that thought it was Commander Shepard and something had gotten screwed up in the programming somewhere. Maybe all she had to do to get this was fixed was go to Miranda and tell her the programmers had made an error somewhere and just get it fucking taken care of.

Maybe she was just fucking crazy, because letting Cerberus rewrite things in her head shouldn’t have even been part of a panicked rant.

Jane took a deep breath, held it for a count of ten, then exhaled. She was who she was now. Cerberus did not define her, Cerberus would never define her. Jane Shepard was an Alliance soldier, a Spectre. Gay. And she was not going to chicken out. It was time.

It was long passed time.

Jane took another deep breath, opened her eyes, and got to her feet. She didn’t want Jeff to find her on the floor. Trying not to irrationally wonder what the hell was taking him so long, Jane moved over to the door to wait, listening. The way she would wait for an enemy squad: ears straining to tracked the lift’s progress, listening for the faint sound through the walls barely separable from the hum of the ship. When Jane (finally) heard it, she calmly counted out the seconds of its assent until the lift door would open. She listened for his footfalls and counted those too, figuring speed and distance and position until he reach the door. She started calculating hack time for the lock before he got through, but no, he’d ring the chime. _Because of course he would. Because he is not an enemy. You are in your cabin, on your ship, and you asked him here._

Breathing out, Jane stepped out of ambush position at the edge of the door and hit the enter command while standing vulnerably out in the open. This nervous, she was going to have to watch her combat reactions. She was not in danger (yes she was) and Jeff was not a threat (yes he was). The door opened and Jeff was standing there, meeting her terrified gaze. 

“Hey,” he said, with an awkward half smile, voice compassionate, body tense.

Jane swallowed. “Hi.” She stepped back and tilted her head towards the room. 

Her pulse pounded as he stepped inside. The paleness of his skin and the red highlights in his hair muted as the door closed behind them and the blue lights from the aquarium tempered his normal color pallet. His eyes turned a stunning blue-green. And Jane suddenly couldn’t take it any more, what she was going to do to him. _Fuck._

“I’m gay,” she said, suddenly, harshly, unable to take the suspense anymore. Unable to lie anymore. Finally able to say what she’d never wanted (always wanted) to say.

“What?”

“I’m gay.”  


....  
Juliet  
....

_I’m gay._

She’d repeated it, so Jeff hadn’t heard wrong. Except he had, he so totally had. “Sorry, you just stopped at Illium and now you’re gay?” Was this an asari joke? How did they go from saying hello to Jane being gay? Jane wasn’t gay. Jeff was pretty damn sure she wasn’t gay. “Did you meet someone while assassin shopping, see them across a crowed room, and just, what? I mean, seriously, what?” He laughed, short, sharp and too loud. Jane didn’t move. And Jeff’s laugh, with a tense, high pitched edge, died as fast as it had started.

She’d been hurting, she’d been _defeated_ , and maybe she was serious. Jeff looked at her. Jane was worn and pale and absolutely unreadable, face straight, eyes forward, the way any marine would look with a drill sergeant yelling insults in their ear. And maybe she was serious. “Oh _hell,_ ” he said quietly. “Are you?”

For the first time, ever, she glanced away from him, unable to meet his eyes. And nodded. Once.

Jeff turned away from her abruptly and walked over to her couch. He sat down stiffly, head spinning.

“Jeff,” she followed him over, standing across from him on the other side of the low table, not getting too close.

“Can’t,” he told her, raising a hand, palm out of forestall her. “Processing.”

“Ok.”

Jane was gay. 

“No,” he said shortly. “None of this is ok.” At last he looked at her again; she looked as stricken as he felt. “I mean, were you just using me?” he burst out. “Was I just a convenient cover? Did you think, because of vorlicks, that I wouldn’t be able to.... When we were together, did you even want? Was it just pity? Or did you do it just so I wouldn’t realize you were?” Jeff felt sick. “ _Why did you sleep with me?_ ” he demanded.

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, you ass!” Tension drained out of her and she dropped into a chair beside him. “I slept with you because I didn’t want to be alone. Because I was hurting and you cared and while I’m not horribly attracted to men, I needed to be touched, to feel alive. I wanted emotional comfort and physical release, which you knew at the frigging time because I _told_ you that’s what it was, because you’re my best friend.”

“But-”

She slashed a hand through the air cutting him off. “No. If I was using you, it was just for affection, to forget. It wasn’t like some horrible awful experience. I didn’t feel trapped into doing it because I was trying to keep a secret. And it wasn’t _pity_.. I was,” she swallowed. “I was _hurting_ and you cared. I. I’m sorry. I can’t help it, I tried, but I _can’t_. I’m gay and I’m sorry!”

She was crying, Jeff realized. For a moment, for too long, he didn’t understand. And then he did and his mouth dropped open. “That’s.” He stared at her. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? That you don’t want to be.” His eyes narrowed. “Jane, that’s crazy! What sort of backwards... you can’t help who you’re attracted to, who you fall in love with; that shit just happens!”

She blinked and it was her turn to stare at him.

“I’m still mad at you for sleeping with me, with anyone you’re not really attracted to,” he added. She deserved so much better than that, everyone did. Shit, what if Hillary had gotten the same asshole upbringing and had.... Jeff’s hand curled into a fist at his side.

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to break something. Something being himself.

“Sorry,” she said, again.

At least this time, it was for the right thing. “Ok,” he said. “Ok.” He took a breath. “So, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Those weren’t even real sentences that meant anything, but it didn’t matter. He smiled. She was gay, but they were better than they’d been in a long time. Friends, for real. And Jane wasn’t blaming... _oh._ Jeff’s expression hardened again. Shit. He owed her an apology too. _For, you know, getting her killed. Shit._

The silence, the shame, hadn’t all been on _her_ end.  


....  
Kilo  
....

Jane was trembling. Not so that Jeff could see, but.... She’d done it. She felt giddy and scared and her heart was still aching and at any moment she might burst into tears or get up and dance.

This was real. This was so, so real.

She couldn’t believe it was real.

“Jane,” Jeff’s voice pulled her back into focus. “I’m, shit, I’m so sorry too. For disobeying when that Geth ship... for making you come back for me, for, fuck. For getting you killed. The Alliance was right to ground me and I’m sorry; I’m so, so sorry.”

She blinked, blindsided. 

“You made the wrong call,” she said, slowly. “But, it, it’s different than,” she tried to get her thoughts in order. She was kind of pissed at dying, but she’d never expected him to actually listen to that order. Not when he knew she didn’t know shit about flying. Her rank gave her the right to make the call, but he was the one with the skills and the judgment to actually make it. She’d disobeyed the entire Alliance and the Counsel when she’d been in that position. Well, save for Captain Anderson. The difference between her and Jeff was that she had been right and he had been wrong. Jane shook her head. “It was one bad choice in the heat of the moment that ended horribly. Don’t do it again?”

“How can you just say that?” His voice was raw.

“Because it’s true.” She looked at him and could tell that wasn’t enough. Her posture straightened, her head clearing a little bit. “This is what it is to be a soldier. You fuck up and people die. That doesn’t mean you’re never going to fuck up.” 

“Shit.” His eyes were still teal from the fish tank ambiance. “You learn that ray of sunshine in command school?”

“My mother, actually.” Jane had been a mess the first time she’d lost someone under her command. Mom had, it hadn’t been pretty, but Mom had helped her hold it together, come to terms with it. Mom had helped Jane accept she’d gotten people killed, but Jane being gay? Mom wasn’t going to accept that. “Shit, Jeff, how am I going to tell her?”

He smiled at her, but it was a pained smile. “You’re going to remind yourself that you stopped the Reapers, ended the geth threat, died saving the best damn pilot in the galaxy and came back from the dead to wipe out the collectors and save every colony we have in the process. And you can remind _her_ that if she doesn’t like the fact that you’re gay she can just remember that every straight person in the galaxy owes you their lives, herself included.”

Jane’s laugh turned into a sob and she slid out of her chair to hug him; gently of course. “I don’t deserve you,” she mumbled.

“You deserve everything from everyone. You’re the reason they have it. Myself most of all. Besides, no one needs permission to be who they are.” His arms squeezed her and then pulled back, so she made herself stop clinging and moved to sit on the couch properly. “So,” he looked at her. “Want to tell me what happened on Illium?”

“Not really. God, we haven’t had enough heavy stuff?” Jane leaned forward, planting her elbows on her knees, hunching her back. “Liara was there.”

“Liara?” Jeff sounded surprised, but Jane stared at the coffee table rather than look at him. “That’s... not... great?”

She was silent for a little bit too long and then they tried to talk over each other.

“I,” Jane started, while at the same time Jeff said: “Oh! Did you and her?”

“No,” Jane clenched the fabric of her pants as she fisted her hands. “But I wanted and she wanted and I said such terrible things to her, about how I’d never and how dare she, because she was a woman and it was wrong and disgusting. And at the same time telling myself she wasn’t a woman so it was ok. I was... she really liked me, and I was encouraging one minute and an absolute bastard the next.” But that wasn’t the worst of it. Liara had still, that near kiss... it had _terrified_ Jane and she had shot Liara down so horribly, so harshly. And it had been right before they were going to die. And then she’d immediately slept with Jeff, not just for comfort like she’d said, but to prove.... Jane opened her mouth, but couldn’t bring herself to say any of it. Especially not to him. “I was terrible,” she said again.

And, now, two years later and the kind, warm, curious person Jane had known... Maybe Liara was fine though. Maybe it was just _Jane_ she was so cold and closed off with, now. But Jane didn’t think so. And whatever else Jane was, she was damn good at reading people.

“I hurt her so badly Jeff and then I died and she’s,” Jane could feel her throat begin to close. Knew she was close to crying again. “She’s an information broker now. A mercenary. She was threatening to torture someone to death. I could understand, if it was just me, but.” Her voice refused to continue.

“You are shitting me,” Jeff said. “No, sorry, of course you’re not, but, Liara? Are you sure she’s not indoctrinated?”

“Don’t even joke about that!” Jane snapped, whipping her head up to glare at him, teeth clenching.

“Yeah,” he let out a breath. “Not funny. But that’s, that’s really extreme. That’s not just a broken heart.”

“Well, I also forcibly extracted her from her career, asked her to become a soldier, and executed her mother in front of her, who was trying to kill her.”

“Ok, yeah, but none of that’s your fault.”

“Yeah, but in the destruction of everything she knew, her world, I asked her to rebuild her life around my mission,” Jane’s voice dropped. “Around myself, really. I encouraged her and then shoved her away and broke her heart and died. And she knew the Reapers were still out there. I was my worst around her, and that’s what she chose to try to become, because I showed her the way. I showed her my worst; if I’d been just a little kinder, a little braver....”

“This is what it is to be a soldier,” Jeff said.

Jane stopped. “Don’t you dare.”

“You fucked up,” Jeff continued. “And people choose to become mercenaries and join terrorist organizations and try to save the galaxy. But nobody’s dead yet, so maybe we can still fix it.”

“You ass,” Jane said. 

Jeff smiled. 

It was the ground that got you, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t pick yourself up out of the dirt.

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic I got stuck on that I actually managed to finish and get somewhat polished up in time for National Coming Out day. Proud on multiple levels (but not of that pun, sorry-not-sorry).


End file.
